


Of Pretty Flowers and Horny Men

by Icarus5800



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: (The night is another matter entirely), But Valjean is uncooperative as usual, Domestic friction, Javert just wants to have sex dammit, M/M, Poor Javert..., Saints are not supposed to think dirty thoughts during the day, maybe some fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-26
Updated: 2013-04-26
Packaged: 2017-12-09 13:23:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/774684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Icarus5800/pseuds/Icarus5800
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Javert ponders the causes and ramifications of cruelty to plants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Pretty Flowers and Horny Men

**Author's Note:**

  * For [visiblemarket](https://archiveofourown.org/users/visiblemarket/gifts).



> The domestic friction you envisioned, though not much gardening I'm afraid. I know absolutely nil about gardening.

Javert snaps the book shut rather loudly and with much less gentleness than it deserves. Jean Valjean does not look up from where he is bent over the rosebush, snipping away the occasional shoot that others may grow and bloom.

Javert tries to scorch Valjean and the rosebush both with his glare. If Valjean feels anything out of the ordinary, he must be attributing the heat to the almighty sun.

Javert coughs. At last Valjean sighs and turns around, a long-suffering look on his face. Javert thinks he has no right to wear that look. He is not the one who has to endure the tedium of living with a man who does nothing but garden and pray and God forbid, _give alms,_ all day. Javert, being a creature naturally disinclined to introspection, gives no thought to the utter lack of imagination or creativity in his own daily routine.

“You seem to have caught a cold, Javert,” Valjean observes with a concern that stinks of insincerity, “Perhaps you would like to go inside?”

Javert’s fists clench, almost crushing the book in his hand. Valjean eyes it with much more concern than he had shown Javert. Javert glowers. Valjean appears insensible to this rage that he has inspired. He moves on to the peonies.

Javert curses public holidays that leave him with nothing to do but read, which he hates, and watch Valjean labour over his precious little flowers, which he hates even more. He has entertained numerous fantasies of getting up in the night to set them all ablaze, and watch them burn beneath a starry sky. He might even draw a picture if the fancy strikes him, to preserve their final moments for perpetuity. It may be that Valjean is aware of these gleeful musings, for his iron hold around Javert’s waist at night makes it impossible for him to sneak out of bed without rousing his lover. Nevertheless, the flowers have died a thousand varied deaths in Javert’s mind. He must be content with that.

He hopes Valjean is not aware of the juvenile threats he hisses at them whenever Valjean is away. The possibility is simply too embarrassing to contemplate.

He returns to his book, praying that night will arrive soon, and with it the promise of more interesting activities. He knows not how much more of this he can take before he is driven to homicide.

**Author's Note:**

> Fuck, I knew that writing at five in the morning was not a good idea. I just caught the stupidest mistake, but thankfully I was able to fix it before too many people have seen undeniable evidence of my idiocy. For those of you who _have_ , please don't tell?
> 
> *puppy dog eyes*


End file.
